by Molly Greene
She’d been in a bathing suit nearly every day since middle school, when her acquaintance with a neighborhood friend turned into a mutual interest in, of all things, water ballet. They’d started at the YMCA with a class for pre-teens. Bree found the challenge and discipline of the sport energizing.
On her ten-lap turn she rolled into a side stroke, alternating left and right. On her twenty-lap turn she faced the sky and moved into a scull, cupping her palms and executing a rapid figure eight beside her hips.
Her thigh muscles clenched like iron. Her toes arched into a point a ballerina would have envied. Her mind emptied of thoughts about the previous night.
She simply swam.
* * *
Gen drifted awake to the sound of running water. Ryan was in the shower. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and checked the clock. Way too early. Wasn’t it the weekend?
She sat up and yawned, then rose and wrapped herself in a cashmere robe and headed for the kitchen to start the coffee, but found it perked and ready to pour. The newspaper was spread across the counter. A plate dusted with crumbs indicated toast.
He must have gotten up at the crack of dawn.
She poured a cup and headed back to the bedroom. Ryan was pulling on sweats and a hooded jersey. “Where are you off to so early?” she asked.
“I thought I’d go for a run up at the Presidio.”
“Pretty ambitious, working out before the roosters crow. You okay? You’ve been quiet lately.”
“Yeah, I’m okay. Just antsy. I thought a good long jog would help.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Nah. So what happened last night with your friend?”
“They cut her loose. Not enough reason to keep her. They were just trying to intimidate the poor girl and see if she had anything to hide. The uniforms brought in Homicide, though, and they’ve pegged the death suspicious.”
“Think she had anything to do with it?”
“Cambria Butler? No way.”
“People change.” Ryan turned away, then sat down and pulled on a pair of heavy socks.
Gen watched him carefully as he laced up his running shoes.
Chapter Five
The trendy restaurant at the southeast corner of Fifth and B was quiet an hour before noon on Saturday.
Bree and Gen stood out front.
“I don’t think the toad is here yet,” Bree said.
She was wearing jeans and round-toed pumps that revealed just enough toe cleavage. Her hair shimmered like a sheet of glass, catching both the lackluster rays of the February sun and the enamored glances of a group of openly impressed teenage boys passing by on a slow-moving cable car.
Gen laughed. Clearly Bree was still irritated by the shock of Vonnegon’s unexpected presence in her hallway last night.
“I’m not sure I’d call him that,” Gen said. “You know what the fairytale says about the princess and who she ends up kissing.”
“Ugh.” Bree’s face twisted with loathing. “Wash your mouth out for even thinking such a thing.”
“Well, you said he was attractive.” Gen smoothed her own snug slacks and checked the glass to be sure her jacket hung well. “And he did offer an olive branch.”
Gen sported three inch heels that complemented her generous 1950’s physique. She had always been proud of her curves, even in college, long before the sumptuous body style redeemed its popularity with the monumental success of TV’s Mad Men.
She took Bree’s arm and pushed through the door, then lowered her voice as they entered the room. “Hold your tongue until we hear what he has to say. Things rarely turn out to be what they seem.”
“I thought we were supposed to trust first impressions.”
They stopped at the deserted hostess’ podium in the entry. “Yeah,” Gen said. “But sometimes our past acts as a filter.”
“What do you mean?”
“Past experiences affect our interpretation of current events. Anna taught me that. We see what we expect to see, based on what we think will happen.”
“How is Anna?” Bree asked.
Before Gen could answer Bree elbowed her, then pointed to the twenty-something hostess stalking toward them. The girl was practicing her Victoria’s Secret runway slouch, cheekbones jutting out and long thin legs encased in opaque leggings. Her crotch was barely covered by a lacey, long-sleeved mini with a flesh-toned lining. The dress gave the impression of see-through that mandated a second look.
“Two for lunch?” she murmured.
“Actually, we’re meeting someone,” Bree replied. “He doesn’t seem to be here yet.”
“Oh.” The hostess dropped her lids and swept them both foot to crown. “Taylor’s waiting for you.” She sniffed, plucked two menus from the podium and turned, right hand on her hip, then swung her lean young body back the way she’d come.
“Follow me.”
Gen mouthed the word “Taylor?” then smirked and tugged Bree along, nearly forcing her to jog in an effort to keep up. They followed the wannabe model to a high-backed booth in the rear where they discovered Vonnegon with his elbows on the table, perusing an iPad.
He wore a brown v-neck over Levis. The toes of his Tony Lama boots were visible beneath the booth. His chiseled face was bracketed before a stunning view of San Francisco Bay.
He looked up at the sound of Gen’s sudden intake of breath. “I agree,” he said, looking out the window. “Aren’t we fortunate?”
Gen chuckled. “Yes indeed, we are.” She extended her palm and winced when Bree pinched her other arm. “I’m Gen Delacourt, Bree’s attorney. I understand you two have already met.”
“Taylor Vonnegon.” He stood and shook Gen’s hand, then offered his palm to Bree. She hesitated before reciprocating.
“Yes,” he continued, “we’re acquainted. Although we haven’t been formally introduced until now. Thank you for meeting me today.”
“You’re buying, right?” Gen asked.
“Of course.”
“Then what have we got to lose?”
Gen slid into the booth. Bree bent her knees and followed, tucking her purse between them on the seat.
“The chef is a favorite of mine,” Taylor said, “although I only lunch here on weekends. The workday crowd is, let’s say, determined.”
“Let’s say, so is the hostess,” Gen replied.
She and Vonnegon locked eyes.
“Restraint and discretion tend to be an adult domain,” he replied, then turned to the menu. “I recommend the salmon, and the quiche is perfection. But feel free to order anything you like.”
“Was Andrew Ducane the restrained type?”
Vonnegon closed his menu and set it aside. “He typically was during work hours. When we first met, I thought he was a young guy with an old man’s personality.” Vonnegon stared out over the bay. “He’ll be missed. He thrived on making discoveries in the lab.”
“Was that what he died for?”
Taylor’s compassionate expression dissolved into something less distinct. He didn’t answer, simply folded his hands together on the edge of the table and leaned against them. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then signaled to the waitress.
“Did you know him well?”
“No, not very.” Vonnegon tilted his head and appeared lost in thought. “I don’t think anyone at Elergene was close to Andrew. He was a loner during work hours. Quirky. Genius often is.”
Their waitress approached. “Ready to order?” she asked, perky in her bow tie and white blouse. The name Sarah was embroidered on her shirt.
“I’m not sure the ladies have had time to decide. I thought I’d order a plate of focaccia and cheese to start. And an iced tea for me, please. Cambria? Gen? Would you like a glass of wine? Another appetizer?”
Bree shook her head. “I’d also like iced tea, please.”
“She speaks,” Taylor said.
Bree held Vonnegon’s gaze. “I thought we were here to listen.”
“May I have a sparkling water?” Gen asked. “We should be ready to order by the time you come back.”
Sarah nodded politely and left.
“Miss Delacourt, your friend has a sharp tongue,” Taylor said. “I’m not sure I could win a verbal battle with this one.”
“Bree’s right,” Gen replied. “Now that the chit-chat’s out of the way, why don’t we get down to business? Tell us why we’re here. Surely not to hear that your deceased employee was stand-offish, although that is interesting.”
Taylor Vonnegon fidgeted.
“Need a glass of wine for fortification?”
“I seldom drink alcohol, Miss Delacourt.”
“Oh? AA?”
“No. AV.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Abraham Vonnegon.” He ran a hand across his jaw. “My father.”
“Ah.” Gen didn’t ask him to elaborate. “And about last night?”
He took a deep breath, opened his mouth to begin, then hesitated. “I’m sorry. This is difficult.”
“We’re curious to know why.”
“All right. Two years ago, Elergene Enterprises was awarded an important federal contract to perform certain biotech-related experimentation, which I cannot discuss. Recently, we learned that Andrew was conducting private research in the company lab. The project was apparently a personal extension of his responsibilities related to our government work.”
He stopped.
Bree shot Gen an exasperated look, then let her eyes slide back to Vonnegon. “What does that have to do with throwing me under the bus?”
Gen placed a hand on her arm.
“Someone broke into Andrew’s lab last week and took documents. The alarm was not triggered. Building security found the door unlocked and empty file drawers hanging open. They reported it as a break-in. When the executive team questioned Andrew about it, he denied any collusion in the theft. However, he did confess he’d been up to some extracurricular activity.”
“And whoever it was just took paperwork?” Gen asked. “That’s all?”
“So it appears. The security tapes show that the intruder was a brunette female, although her hair was pinned up in the video sequence. She must have been an industrial spy. She knew what she was doing. Her face was never revealed to the camera.”
“She got in with someone’s key, though,” Gen said. “Do you think Ducane gave it to her?”
“Perhaps. But it could have been stolen. I don’t see why Andrew would have any reason to stage a robbery of his research files when he could have simply taken them himself.”
“How many people have access? Did anyone report their key stolen?”
“No one reported anything missing other than the files,” Vonnegon replied. “But the key could easily have been borrowed, duplicated, and returned before anyone was the wiser. As for access, at least a dozen people come and go through rooms in that wing.”
“I still don’t get what it has to do with me,” Bree said.
“If I’m not mistaken,” Gen said, “when Mr. Vonnegon found you with Andrew Ducane’s body last night, he assumed you and the woman on the tape were one and the same.”
“That’s right,” Vonnegon replied. “She was wearing a lab coat, but there are distinct similarities. It was only after I had a chance to do my own background check that I could safely be sure that Miss Butler was probably not the perpetrator. Of course, there’s still the outside chance I’m wrong.”
“Bree, do you have skills I’m not aware of?”
“No.” Bree regarded Vonnegon. “And I still don’t know why you didn’t tell the police all this.”
“Because I wasn’t in a position to answer questions about our clients or our research. I asked you here today because I wanted you to know why I implicated you, and that I’m sorry I had to. The way I see it, you have nothing to worry about. Even without hearing my story, the authorities will do their due diligence and realize you’ve no connection. Cambria Marie Butler’s record appears to be squeaky clean. My guess is you wouldn’t do anyone harm.”
Gen saw Bree’s eyes widen. Was she surprised he’d discovered her full given name?
“Just how did you come up with all this information about me in a couple hours on a Friday night?”
Vonnegon ran a hand up his forehead and pushed back the substantial bulk of his well-cut blonde hair. “I’m head of a successful corporation,” he replied. “I have online accounts with several identity search websites. I use these sites to gather information about competitors, meeting attendees, potential employees and business partners. And anyone else I need to know more about.”
“Convenient.”
“Look Miss Butler, it’s the Internet age. I didn’t actually need the big guns. In minutes, Google led me to your business website, your Facebook and LinkedIn pages. I read your blog, scanned your Google profile. I located past addresses, the number and street of the house you were born in.
“I know where your one living grandparent resides. I know your birth date, your father’s profession, your sister’s husband’s name. I know you have three nieces and nephews but no spouse or children, and that your mother is no longer with us.”
Bree scowled and focused on the menu.
Gen changed the subject. “What type of private research was Mr. Ducane using the company lab for?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Do you believe whatever he was studying has something to do with his death?”
“I don’t see how it could.”
“Then why won’t you tell us what he was working on?”
“I’ll tell the police privately when I tell them about the break-in, Miss Delacourt. It has no bearing on the situation with Miss Butler–”
Bree cut in. “Who was the woman in the hallway with you last night?”
“My secretary.”
Sarah appeared, balancing a tray on her fingertips. She deftly swung the platter down without spilling a drop, then distributed tumblers of water and tea and placed a plate of herbed bread and cheese in the center of the table.
“May I take your orders now?” she asked, then dropped her eyes to Bree and waited.
“I’ll have the roasted red pepper and vegetable sandwich, please.”
“An excellent choice,” Sarah replied.
“One request,” Bree added, “please tell the chef to leave off the mushrooms. I’m not a fan.”
Taylor Vonnegon dropped the crust he’d just bitten into and covered his mouth, then leaned away from the table as a massive coughing spell ensued.
“I apologize,” he said when he could speak again. “Something went down the wrong way.”
Gen ducked her head and smiled. This was the first time in the entire conversation she’d seen him less than completely self-assured.
Chapter Six
At the end of the meal, Vonnegon promised to put in a call to the detectives first thing Monday morning. Gen gave him her business card and suggested he get in touch if his company needed help solving the burglary. They shook hands, exchanged polite thanks and goodbyes, and parted on the street.
When Vonnegon turned downhill toward his car, Gen thought he left reluctantly. Unfinished business? She and Bree linked arms and strolled away in the opposite direction.
“I do not trust that man any more now than I did before lunch,” Bree said.
“Interesting, though.”
“Which part?”
“All of it, really. I admit I’m intrigued.”
“Easy for you to say, you didn’t find the body. You didn’t get grilled by Inspector Clouseau. You didn’t get accosted by Vonnegon twice last night.”
“You seemed surprised at the info he collected.”
“Not really. I use search engines all the time to dig up stats about people, so I’ll have background for my magazine assignments.”
Gen’s eyes slid to her. “So did you research Ducane?”
“Some. Wasn’t much to find. He’s not a joiner, hasn�
��t been published in his field that I could see, no social networking other than the regulation Facebook account he never posts to. He’s an MIT grad, originally from the Midwest. That’s about all I got. I didn’t have a reason to dig too deep.”
Gen and Bree parted almost on cue to skirt a jogger running up the sidewalk, then moved back together. “Most people would find it pretty unsettling, finding a dead employee in the office, but Vonnegon didn’t show much remorse.”
“Yeah,” Bree replied. “The guy doesn’t break a sweat. I get the impression he doesn’t have a nerve in his body.”
“You were quiet today. Not the Bree Marie who almost told the handsome detective to take a flying leap last night.”
“Vonnegon throws me, I guess.”
“How so?”
“Oh, you know. I’ve never had your kind of confidence, the wild and crazy coed who used to dance on the cafeteria tables. I thought you were more ballsy than anyone I’d ever met.”
“I’ve dialed it back the past couple years.”
“Why?”
Gen adjusted the strap on her bag and shoved her hands in her pockets, then blew out a long, slow breath. “The girl I used to be was a little too bourbon-infused and frantic. It evened out when I fell in love with Ryan. Then I opened my business and that showed me the troubled side of people, even more than being a lawyer had. It grounded me. Helped me appreciate what I have. I like the person I am now.”
Gen squeezed Bree’s arm. “But I remember you as a pretty tough interrogator on the school paper. So I was surprised when the reporter in you didn’t pound the Elergene CEO with a million questions. You had good reason to.”
“Yeah, I was a wimp today.” Bree sniffed. “Although I did have a few choice words for him last night outside my condo. I wasn’t intimidated when I was tired and cranky.”
“Oh, come on. I didn’t know that was possible.”
“What, that I get crabby, or that people can make me feel inferior?”
“Everybody has their grouchy days. I mean the other.”
“Look at it this way. My work requires that I listen, record information, take instructions. I play the part much better now than when I was a kid.”